


In Vino Veritas

by MizzenMinecart



Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins, The Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes - Suzanne Collins
Genre: Canon Compliant, Canon-Typical Violence, Drunken Confessions, Gen, If the book isn't gonna avenge Sejanus then I'll do it myself, TBOSAS spoilers, Takes place 3 years after TBOSAS, The Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes, lots of posca
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-01
Updated: 2020-08-01
Packaged: 2021-03-06 07:00:11
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,676
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25639159
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MizzenMinecart/pseuds/MizzenMinecart
Summary: On the night of Festus and Persephone's wedding, a drunken Coriolanus Snow reveals the truth about Sejanus' faith.
Comments: 3
Kudos: 26





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> "In vino veritas": a Latin phrase that means "in wine lies the truth."

Festus and the cannibal girl were getting married.

Coriolanus Snow had turned a ripe 21 years old two months earlier. Unlike Snow, Festus wasn’t able to attend the university. Like the Snows, the Creeds were short on savings, although not as bad as the Snows once were.

Quite the player, Festus always was. Quite a dumb one while at it. But to the surprise of everyone except Coriolanus, he had successfully swooned Persephone Price, falling in love while mentoring tributes from the same district. Coriolanus entered the doors of the grand hotel and his eyes fell unto the lucky couple. In the moment, he couldn’t help but recall the faint sound of the two making out behind the mentor’s chairs (both their tributes were dead) as Reaper took his last breath a mere 3 years ago. He was certain he was the only one who heard but was too focused on that Covey freak to intervene. The two have come a long way since. What a love story to tell for generations.

Nero Price has been dead for 2 years, yes, hopefully killed by the ghost of that maid. But that crooked smile of Persephone’s still felt off. Perhaps the maid’s business is far from over.

“Coryo!” Festus squealed. And Coriolanus immediately wanted to turn around and exit.

“Don’t call me that,” Coriolanus said for the millionth time.

“Sorry,” Festus said with a slight chuckle. “It just kinda slipped out!”

Festus was decked in the newest Capitol fashion. He had dyed his curly hair a ridiculous shade of blue that it almost resembled an inverted clown wig. For his big day, he had worked a gray vest chiseled with gems over a neon blue funnel-collared undershirt with puffed balloon sleeves. His pants and shoes were the same neon as his undershirt.

Persephone, busy speaking with her bridesmaids, strutted clothing somehow more extravagant than Festus. Her 1-foot diameter hot pink bow resting on her head looked as if it was about to come to life and call Coriolanus poor. The large collar around her neck, her gown which consisted of 100% ruffles (which will catch grime all day as she drags the back around)— all of it smelled of old Capitol money.

As usual, the groom and bride dress the most spectacular so as to not blend with the attendees. He wondered how they were able to walk in such clothing.

Festus led Coriolanus to the dining halls where a buffet was held. He grabbed a few bites and sat at Festus’ table reserved for “old friends.” Coriolanus was one of the few who wasn’t a groomsman.

“And this is Coriolanus Snow—” Festus paused, desperately scraping his mind for any personality traits he could list off, but to no avail. “He’s attending the university and was recently accepted to be an intern gamemaker!”

Coriolanus beamed a bright smile. The ridiculously dressed strangers ooo’d and aaa’d to his pleasure. Only a few didn’t, one of which was Hilarius Heavensbee, who had turned down a scholarship at the university to pursue a career as a rapper. Only for his dreams to be crushed with the Commons Music Prevention Act, criminalizing the making and distribution of non-government approved music, that was passed a year later.

Hilarius scoffed. “You don’t need to rub it into our faces,” said the man with quadruple the wealth of everyone at the table.

In the middle of silently eating the roasted lamb, Coriolanus felt a hand on his shoulder. He turned around and saw a familiar face.

“Long time, no see,” Lysistrata Vickers said with a smile. He hadn’t seen her in-person since Sejanus’ 19th “birthday party.” She dawned a more humble article of clothing, a purple off-shoulder dress and nothing more. “Festus told me you’re an intern gamemaker now?”

Lysistrata didn’t need to introduce herself, she was aware of Coriolanus’ almost photographic memory. Coriolanus swallowed his bite and began speaking.

“Why yes, yes I am,” Coriolanus said with confidence, wiping his mouth with his handkerchief. He could tell she had already had a glass of posca by the way she walked. Lysistrata always struck Coriolanus as a lightweight, yet she was skilled in the art of self-control.

“I still don’t watch the Hunger Games. It’s not my cup of tea, especially after what happened with Jessup…” Lysistrata admitted.

“I can promise you, what happened with Jessup will never happen again. They’re finally getting a doctor to watch the tributes before the games. You can thank me for suggesting that."

Lysistrata’s face lit up. “That’s great! You’re so wonderful! Goodness, how can I thank you? Would you like a glass of posca?”

Lysistrata and Coriolanus got a few drinks together. The celebration carried on. Festus and Persephone said their vows. _‘You may now kiss the cannibal’_ Coriolanus strummed under his breath as the two shared a kiss.

* * *

“Coriolanus.”

“Coriolanus...”

“Coriolanus!”

He blinked, his eyes lagging to see Festus. “What?”

“Your face looks like a goddamn tomato, man!” Festus said. Despite usually being the drinker of the party, Festus had remained completely sober. He becomes flirty when drunk and knows Persephone won’t like that one bit.

“Shut… Shut up…” Coriolanus stammered. As night fell, the majority of the attendees had moved to the pool area. Meanwhile, Coriolanus took advantage of the poolside bar and the Plinth’s money.

Coriolanus’ hand gently gripped a half-empty glass of posca. His breath was putrid. Festus shook his head. For the first time, the tables have turned; _he_ had to take care of a drunk Coriolanus. “Look, I’ll get you some water.”

“Water…” Coriolanus scanned the poolside from his swiveling barstool. Yes, there was water everywhere. Very pretty, glassy water with people swimming in it… the water was light purple… probably paid extra for that. The color-changing lights distorted with every tiny ripple. He wanted to reach out and touch the icy water and maybe that’ll cool him off. When did it become so hot? And before he knew what he was doing, the future president found himself underwater, sputtering for the air above.

* * *

Coriolanus blinked awake. As his eyes adjusted, he realized he was in a hotel room. Two room, one bedded suite with the windows drawn.

“He’s conscious!”

Coriolanus craned his head, trying to register the voice. Ah, cannibal girl. 

Festus, who had been in the middle of brushing his teeth, rushed in the room. “Coriolanus! How are you feeling?” he said, foam sputtering out of his mouth and onto the carpet.

“What… ‘appened…?” Coriolanus slurred, fighting the horrible headache.

“You fell into the pool and almost drowned. Persephone was the only one who knew mouth-to-mouth. She saved your life,” Festus said.

Persephone walked past the bed. “And not even a thank you? I had to taste the disgusting Prosellaberry posca in your mouth! Uck!”

“Cannibal…” Coriolanus slurred, but she was already in the living room.

“We're going to take you to the hospital in the morning," Festus said. 

Persephone peaked around the corner, appearing bored. “Fest, I’m going to hang out with the girls in the pool. You deal with him,” she said before exiting the hotel room.

All Coriolanus could focus on was the floating room that surrounded him. Festus came with a $5 hotel water bottle, gently tilting Coriolanus’ head and pouring the liquid into his mouth. Safe, safe… he was safe.

Festus’ energy was drained and he slipped into his pajamas. He turned on the TV. After a few minutes of yabbering Capitol News, a commercial caught Coriolanus’ eye.

“Did you miss last night’s District 2 interviews?” shouted Lucky Flickerman. Ah, it was a Hunger Games ad. Coriolanus had met the leading editor of the Hunger Games ads a few times but was never allowed to suggest improvements. He was a grumpy old man named Aufidius who seemed to hate him for some unknown reason.

The advert played a quick edit of the District 2 interviews. First, was a 16-year-old girl named Valentine, whose highlight was cracking a quick joke about her love for peanuts. Next, was a 12-year-old boy named Proteus, whose highlight was loudly proclaiming he’d win the Hunger Games.

“Plinths…” Coriolanus began. “They look like the Plinths. Both of them.”

“Don’t miss tonight’s interviews with the District 3 tributes; Electra and Toggle!” Lucky Flickerman said with a smile. His face faded into the seal of Panem.

“District 3 has dumb names…” Coriolanus muttered.

“You think those two tributes are related to the Plinths?” Festus asked.

Coriolanus shook his head. “No, no. Their last names aren’t Plinth… they look… said they look like Plinths.”

“Maybe people from District 2 look like that… I agree that Proteus had an odd resemblance to Marcus,” Festus said, recalling the last Hunger Games he sat down to properly watch. He liked the Hunger Games but the past 2 were quite boring and experimental, to say the least. They've become more flashy and fake ever since Lucy Gray happened.

“Marcush!” Coriolanus spat. “Marcush, Marcush. Sejanus loved him lotsh… remember? Remember? ‘m remembering…”

Festus leaned back in his chair. He shut his eyes, recalling the awkwardly polite smile of his late friend. Once a timid boy who carried Festus to the nurse’s office when he broke his leg on the playground. Who grew into a tall man who slouched quite a bit, yet was able to stand his ground. A district boy who didn’t act, look, or smell district. He definitely wasn’t district, no matter what he claimed.

The last image of Sejanus, implanted in Festus’ mind, was the framed picture that rested on a Plinth’s mantle on what would’ve been his 19th birthday. Mrs. Plinth had made dinner for everyone and stuffed Sejanus’ bowl full of his favorite dish, “Ma’s cabbage soup” as the Plinths would call it. Festus recalled the comforting silence as he, Lysistrata, Coriolanus, and Mrs. and Mr. Plinth ate dinner together. At the end of the table was Sejanus’ bowl, growing cold throughout the night.

Sejanus didn’t have many friends. Festus wished he had known him better. The only one who had the balls to talk back to Dr. Gaul, even if he was being a little too righteous. The fact his life was ended in the districts proves that he’s truly Capitol at heart.

Festus’ thoughts were interrupted by Coriolanus releasing a loud hiccup and giggling. He had never heard Coriolanus giggle. It was so uncanny that it took him a second to realize it came out of his friend.

“Yes, I remember Sejanus,” Festus finally said. “I miss him as well.” Coriolanus was also a peacekeeper in District 12 when Sejanus was killed in that tragic training accident. Festus heard that his body was blown to bits. His remains were splattered, leaving not enough for his body to be shipped back to the Capitol for a proper burial. But Coriolanus was there, he was roommates with Sejanus. He must’ve seen everything. Poor thing.

“You should be mad! Why aren’t you mad!” Coriolanus yelled as he swung a weak fist in the air.

“What do you mean?”

“Seh… _hic_ … Sejanus would still be here if it weren’t for me…”

“You took part in the training accident?!” Festus asked, slightly raising his voice.

Festus’ volume caused Coriolanus to shout back thrice as loud “SHUT UP ABOUT THE TRAINING ACCIDENT! Shut up! Shut up! You don’t know anything!”

Festus flinched. It definitely wasn’t Snow to have explosive anger. But of course, he’s under the influence. Not himself. But everything about it was so wrong as if he had been possessed. “You need some water—”

“I killed Sejanus!”

Stopped dead in his tracks, turning his head to stare at his tomato-faced friend who longingly stared at the ceiling.

“I saw him… Plinth was runnin’ with some rebels in District 12… He had it comin’, y’know, Festus? Had it coming…”

Festus grabbed for the complimentary hotel pen and pad. Hastily, he scribed Coriolanus’ words in handwriting messier than usual. Coriolanus sounded out of breath. _No, no, no, don’t fall asleep now!_

“What happened?” Festus asked.

Coriolanus giggled. “You know how Sejanus felt about the rebels… He met some in District 12, oh, that District was crawlin’ with the rebels. And he thought I was gonna help him, ha! I got a recording bird-thing... jabberjay! I got a jabberjay and recorded Sejanus con-feshin’ his plan to me… I didn’t think it’d work but Gaul found the recordin’ when we turned the bird-things in. And then a couple days later Sejanus was hanged for treason wit’ the whole village watchin’. He was hanged with another little girl. Don’t remember how he looked, turned away…”

“So… So there was never a training accident?” Festus asked, his hands sweaty and shaking.

“Didn’t want the Academy knowin’ one of the top students became a rebel… Didn’t want Ma and Sir Plinth to be associated, business might’ve suffered… “

“W-Where was Sejanus buried?!”

Coriolanus shrugged. “I dunno. Probably District 12. I didn’t see because I was concerned with Lucy Gray… Covey freak…ughch… At least Gaul got me into the uni cause I proved my loyalty, haha. University is fun... You should enroll at some point.”

Two notepad pages filled. Festus was not a cryer, not at all. Instead, all these feelings morphed into anger. Years, the Plinths didn’t know the fate of their own son. For years, they’ve adopted the man who killed their only child! Trying to hide the rage in his voice, he asked “What were his last words?”

“Something like ‘Ma! Ma! Ma!’ a couple times. Mockingfreaks picked it up. They do that all the time. It’s crazy, Fest, you should see it. It was crazy. It was chaos.”

Chaos. Three pages completed. Festus’ heart was beating in his ears. The TV continued to drone with Capitol News. Occasionally, Coriolanus would drunkenly comment in reaction to an odd commercial. Festus kept reading the page over and over again, trying to register what just happened.

And in that moment, a wave of vulnerability flooded. Here he was, sitting in his pajamas, in the same room as a murderer. Well, not a ‘murderer’ in the traditional sense, right? But a parasite leeching off an oblivious family that adores him. Coriolanus spent all his time in the Plinth’s household. The only available bedroom was Sejanus’, so the Plinths renovated it for Coriolanus.

“He sent a letter to us. He said you two were like brothers…”

“Had no one else, I was kinda the default.” Coriolanus rolled over to face Festus. The pristine Snow had a toddler-like smile on his face. “Don’t tell anyone I said this. They’ll be mad.”

Festus remained in the same chair as if he were being held hostage. It’s etiquette to not leave a drunk friend alone for the safety of themself and everyone around them. He couldn’t leave the room until Snow had fallen asleep.

Once Coriolanus began snoring, Festus dashed out of the hotel room. Still in his pajamas, he flew through the hallways with the notepad clenched in his hands. The weight of the truth rested on his shoulders like an anvil. There was only one person he could go to. He knocked on the door.

“Lysistrata.”

She rubbed her eyes. “What are you doing? It’s 1 AM.”

“There’s something you need to know. Let me in and close the door.”

Sitting on the bed, he showed her the papers. Lysistrata squinted. “Festus, you know nobody can read your handwriting.”

Festus growled in frustration. He explained to her what happened. As the story progressed, her eyes grew wide and her mouth agape with the color draining from her face.

Through facial expressions alone, Festus knew what was going through Lysistrata’s head. The same boy, a decade ago, who asked Lysistrata for any extra food. He had his war-rationed lunch stolen by the bullies. She handed him her crackers and he, in return, paid her with a flower he plucked from the playground, not knowing that those flowers were actually weeds. And the same 19th “birthday party” with the same cabbage soup. The same dorky smile haunting her head.

“I wish he escaped. He’d be much happier…”

“Oh, you’ve never struck me as a rebel sympathizer,” Festus said. Lysistrata shot him a side-glare. “I’m more concerned that Coryo indirectly took someone’s life to get into university. And he’s paying for it with a dead man’s money!”

Sejanus, Sejanus. She might’ve not been close to him, but who was? Everyone seemed to already hate him. It was hard to make friends with someone who was already in defense mode.

“Coriolanus told me not to tell anyone,” Festus said.

“What a reliable friend you are,” Lysistrata snarked.

“This isn’t the time to joke around! We know something the rest of the Capitol doesn’t. What should we do?”

Lysistrata stood up and paced around the room. “First thing’s first, we tell the Plinths.”

“But what if they don’t believe us? What if Dr. Gaul does something to them?”

She cursed under her breath. “Dr. Gaul, what a monster. The games were worse enough, but Sejanus was _her_ student as well.”

“Lysistrata, are you a rebel sympathizer?”

“Does that matter?”

Festus shrugged. “Fair enough.”

The two discussed a plan. To tell the Plinths, they’d need to write a formal letter since word of mouth is untrustful. They kept sharing ideas until Persephone called Festus to bed and the two wished farewells to each other. Coriolanus slept like a baby on the sofa.


	2. Chapter 2

In the morning, Festus took a hungover Snow to the hospital where the Plinths picked him up.

“You looked like you had fun!” Mrs. Plinth mused.

“He almost drowned,” Festus said.

“Oh,” Mrs. Plinth said. “That doesn’t sound very fun.”

Never change, Ma Plinth, never change.

Before the Dark Days, there used to be a thing called a “honeymoon” where newlyweds would go on vacation after their wedding. Of course, this was before Panem severed itself from the rest of the world. Festus recalled his great-grandfather showing him pictures of his honeymoon. “The happiest part of the marriage,” his great-grandfather would say as he showed 10-year-old Festus pictures from a faraway city where the streets were water and everyone traveled on boat.

This, however, was the furthest from a honeymoon. For two days, Festus and Lysistrata worked non-stop on the letter. It morphed into an essay.

In the late afternoon of the second night, there was a knock at the door. Persephone came to open.

“Persephone Creed?” a fully sober Coriolanus asked. He was decked in a pristine suit and carried a wrapped present and a bag of alcohol.

Persephone smiled. “Snow! You’re the first person to call me by my new last name.”

When Festus came into the room, the two locked eyes. In a blink, all the color drained from Festus’ face.

“Coriolanus, what brings you here?” Festus said, making it loud enough for Lysistrata to hear from the office.

Coriolanus stepped inside. “I’m dearly sorry for my actions at the wedding. Once I heard what had transpired, I couldn’t go on without paying you back. This is the least I could do, considering I didn’t even bother to bring a wedding gift.” He handed Persephone the box.

Giddy with delight, Persephone unwrapped the paper and opened the box. She gasped. It was two wine glasses personalized with her and Festus’ names. Even Festus had to admit the quick craftsmanship was impressive.

Coriolanus took the alcohol out of the paper bag. “Strabo Plinth has a large posca cellar. I’d figured I’d get you two something on the expensive side. Your wedding is a blur to me so I thought we’d formally celebrate together.” He handed the posca to Persephone.

Persephone frowned. “Aw, I don’t like Prosellaberry.”

“Oh, I didn’t know.”

“That’s fine! We have some leftovers that I can drink, although they’re not as expensive as yours.”

He doesn’t remember. Festus sighed to himself. But how was Lysistrata? He didn’t have a chance to check before he was sitting on the balcony, watching the sunset. Snow popped the bottle of posca and poured a glass for him and Festus.

The three made a toast and they took a swig.

“Coriolanus, do you ever plan to get married?” Festus asked.

He gave Festus an icy side-glare. “Romance isn’t for me.”

Persephone gave Coriolanus a playful punch. “Aw come on! You just haven’t found the one yet!”

He smothered in the thought of throwing the posca in her face and pushing her off the balcony.

“I know who I am,” Coriolanus said. Persephone and Festus continued to talk about identifying stars and other nonsense. Coriolanus gazed at his watch. It’s been 5 minutes. “Where’s your bathroom? This posca really goes through me.”

“Down the hall, take a right. You can’t miss it,” Persephone said.

It was quiet in the bathroom. From his suit’s inside pocket, he retrieved a small bottle. He unscrewed the dropper and tossed it aside. Snow took the antidote in one swig. It burned. He let it slosh in his mouth. It burned. Tears formed in the corners of his eyes. His fist clenched the edge of the marble sink. Against every muscle in his body, he tilted his head back and tried to swallow. His mouth was on fire. He shut his eyes, he couldn’t bear to see himself like this. The pain continued to burn until his chest caught fire. Accepting defeat, he opened his mouth like a faucet and a sludge of medicine and blood poured into the sink.

His mouth continued to sizzle as he spat more blood. He ran the faucet trying to destroy the horrible stench of medicine. Had he not used the antidote right? Coriolanus drank the tap water like a thirsty horse, but nothing could rid the taste of blood.

After that fiasco, Snow settled on a more traditional approach. He jammed two fingers up his throat and vomited into the toilet. After that, he fixed his hair. He was still coughing blood, but thankfully he had a handkerchief.

Coriolanus returned to the balcony where Festus and the cannibal girl were about to do the horizontal tango. He wished he didn’t interrupt them. The least he could do was let Festus have fun one last time.

No, it’s useless showing mercy. People can’t read minds. Especially if that person would be dead in about 5 hours.

After a night of pleasant small talk, Coriolanus wished them farewell and a happy marriage. All on schedule. Once he walked a good distance away, he slipped into an alley that he knew had no cameras. He tore the papers while whistling Gem of Panem. He had retrieved them from his journey back from the bathroom. Although he might’ve been a little too forceful while whistling because some blood droplets splattered onto the paper. No matter. He threw the scraps into a dumpster and lit a lighter. He tossed the lighter into the trash and walked away, whistling.

It was over, finally.


	3. Chapter 3

Lysistrata’s worst fears were confirmed when she saw an ambulance outside of the Creeds’ residence. 

She had slipped out of a window and, with nowhere to go, returned to her apartment. Waiting by the window for any sign that it was safe. 

But Festus’ body sprawled on a stretcher told her otherwise. 

Festus was dead. Killed by Coriolanus, no doubt about it. And if Lysistrata didn’t keep her mouth shut, she was next. Or maybe Coriolanus was already planning her demise right this minute. She collapsed on the ground, cursing to herself at how she should’ve brought the papers. 

But there was one more hope. On the wedding night, Lysistrata made her own copy of Festus’ paper for her to take home (and for it to be legible). She fumbled her way to her luggage and retrieved the paper. 

She smiled for only a second before reality hit her. What was she going to do with this paper? If she tried to tell the Plinths, she’d be painting a target on her back. If she tried to tell anyone, word will be spread, and then she’d be dead. Coriolanus couldn’t be arrested because there wasn't enough evidence. And even if there was, Strabo Plinth would probably pay it off anyway. 

_I’m so sorry, Sejanus._

Only one choice: keep quiet.

Keep quiet, even as Snow says his parting words at Festus’ funeral. 

Keep quiet, even as Snow says his commencement speech in front of an adoring sea of students. 

Keep quiet, even as Snow becomes president. At this point, no one would believe her anyway. It wasn’t like she could suddenly accuse the President of murder. Who knew what would happen to her? 

After contacting Persephone and finding out how Festus died (“bad posca”), Lysistrata never drank posca again, to say the least. 

_There was nothing I could do_ , Lysistrata Vickers told herself for years to come. What was a feeble news anchor to do? Everything she says was written by her writers. All she could do was stand in front of a greenscreen and report the news and occasionally the status of District 13. More Hunger Games went and passed. The name “Coriolanus Snow” became a name obscured in fog; now, it was President Snow. A title she has repeated over a million times by now. 

Once in a while, something would remind her of Sejanus. Someone would throw (or forcefully shove) a chair out of anger and, in a flash, she’d be transported back to the mentors’ broadcasting station; Sejanus through the door and Marcus moaning in pain. 

“I used to go to school with him,” Lysistrata had told her daughter as President Snow appeared onscreen. The two sat to watch the annual tribute parade. Her daughter was 13 and had seen a total of 299 district kids murdered on a screen. Surely, she was old enough to understand. 

Lysistrata had opened the pandora’s box of questions. How was Snow like? Were you friends with him? Was his hair always that white? Was he cute? Was he funny? Do you have any cool stories? 

The last question caught her off-guard. She thought of the letter, which had been resting in a locked box with other valuables for years. 

Her daughter has seen other kids murdered before. Surely, she was old enough to understand. 

“I have something to show you, but promise not to tell anyone.”

Secrets are like weapons. Press the wrong button and it blows up in your face. Use incorrectly and you’ll end up six feet under. Use correctly and you become the most dangerous person in the room.

Hold secrets and collect them like currency. Don’t want them getting away. Save them in a vault just as Viola Vickers had done. You must protect them. Secrets are flames that extinguish if not tended to. 

But what do you choose to do with that flame? You can always try to burn an empire down. Or maybe you can let them free, allowing the truth to be shrewd by nature. Like a jabberjay and the free mockingjay, a crude parody of its former self. By then, it’ll be out of your hands. Or, you can pay off the victor of your favorite Hunger Games, as he doesn’t accept money. 

It’s not over ‘til the mockingjay sings, one naive girl told Snow many years ago. Not one instance in his 80 years of life had proven that proverb right. Once things were over, it was over. Keep moving, keep moving, keep moving. That should be the slogan of the Capitol. 

The rebels had hacked the Capitol’s broadcasts. Unaware of the current rescue mission being executed, Snow rested on his couch and awaited the footage to clear. It’s worth giving them a fair fight. _Show me what you got._

There she was, the Mockingjay. Nothing more than another girl from the Seam. The story about Peeta and the bread amused him. It’s nice to know District 12 hasn’t changed from his Peacekeeping days. 

He didn’t bat an eye until Finnick Odair spoke two names Snow hoped the world had forgotten. 


End file.
